The rush was corrupting, all too seductive. It was a sensation easy to succumb to, and his mind grew increasingly obsessed with it, spiraling deeper into its grip with each passing day. The allure consumed him, drawing him in, leaving him powerless against its pull.
His whole life, even before death, had been one long, brutal struggle. He’d been kicked around, beaten down, but he always fought back, never willing to submit. Yet, powerless as he had been, it never seemed to matter.
Now, everything had changed. He wasn’t the slightest bit grateful to the entity that had brought him to this twisted world, but he couldn’t deny the allure of the system that granted him strength beyond his wildest dreams. That source of power, seemingly endless, made him feel invincible. Like he could conquer anything.
His gaze fell to the shredded remains of the rat before him, the aftermath of his brutal feeding frenzy. The intoxicating thrill of power began to wane, and with the hunger’s influence already gone, witnessing the grotesque tapestry of mutilation sent his mind into chaos.
The creature’s body was a ruin of flesh, half-devoured, with blood and viscera smeared across the rocks like the brush strokes of a demented artist. Guts, slick and glistening, had spilled out of the torn abdomen in a steaming pile, their smell an acrid blend of iron and decay. And the head… the head was a horror unto itself—its skull fractured, eyes half-gobbled, bone shards protruding like jagged peaks through matted fur. The brain, or what remained of it, was a pulpy mess. Parts of it gnawed away, leaving gaping holes in the gelatinous mass.
Hardly able to look at it, a wave of nauseating revulsion washed over him, thick and sour—so vivid he could almost taste it. He recoiled, as if trying to distance himself from the monstrous act he had just committed.
The hunger had driven him to this, to rip and tear with a savagery that left him trembling in the aftermath. But now, with the blood lust finally sated, the reality of what he had done twisted in his gut like a knife. It repulsed him. Every fiber of his being screamed in disgust at the monstrosity he had become.
He could still taste the foul remnants of the rat’s brain, could still feel the pulpy mass oozing between his teeth. The very thought made him gag, though his body, devoid of flesh, could not perform such a reflex.
What had he done? What had he become?
The power that once filled him with exhilaration now felt like a curse, a blight upon his soul. His reflection on the blood-streaked rocks mocked him, a reminder of the line he had crossed, the humanity he had left behind.
And yet, even as he recoiled in horror, a part of him still craved more. The hunger had been sated for now, but the obsession with power remained. It was like a tingling presence at the back of his mind. Eternally lingering, whispering promises of strength and dominance. If only he would feed it again.
Kaden felt like he was slipping away, losing pieces of his identity to the darkness within. His thoughts were a chaotic storm, his mind at war with itself. How could he reconcile the image he had of himself with the monstrosity he had become? He wasn’t just a victim. Hadn’t he wanted this? He had willed himself to become a monster, to embrace the power that now flowed through him. But now, the reality of it—the blood, the carnage—was too much to bear.
“No!” Kaden cried out, his ghastly voice echoing hollowly through the desolate cavern. “This isn’t me! This isn’t what I wanted!”
He collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, his bones clattering against the stone as he curled into himself, trying to shut out the horror of his actions. His body trembled violently, the once-bright red glow in his eye sockets dimming into a void of blackness. He sobbed, dry and broken.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Despair kept eating away at him, relentless and unforgiving. He hated the world for what it had done to him, for the twisted path it had forced him down. But more than that, he hated himself for what he had become, for the monster he had allowed himself to turn into. He was a prisoner of his own making, trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape.
He wanted vengeance; he wanted freedom, but at what cost? How much of himself was he willing to sacrifice? Just how much was he prepared to lose?
----------------------------------------
In a damp, dark crypt far below the surface, the flickering light of torches cast eerie shadows on the slick, green bricks. The air was thick with the smell of mold and rot, and a profound stillness pervaded the room, as if the very stones were holding their breath.
At the center of the room stood a rickety stone table, cluttered with an assortment of strange and unsettling trinkets—artifacts of madness, remnants from countless experiments. A large crystal orb dominated the table, its surface smooth and flawless, reflecting the dim light in a way that was almost hypnotic. If one peered closely, they might have caught a glimpse of a hazy image within—a faint, dark silhouette of a curled-up skeleton.
A shimmering figure materialized in the crypt, its form hovering just above the floor, gliding with an unnatural grace towards the table. It floated beside the glass sphere, leaning closer and peering into it with an unsettling intensity. Had Kaden been there, he might have recognized the figure—it bore a stark resemblance to the entity he had encountered before, though now it was more defined, more human in its form.
“Tsk… he’s going to break,” the specter muttered, a note of irritation creeping into its voice. Time was slipping through its grasp, and with it, its patience. This was the fifth attempt, and it was proving no more successful than the previous ones. Humans were so fragile, so pitifully weak. And yet, the memory of its own humanity lingered, distant and faded, like a dream half-remembered.
The specter’s form wavered as it turned its attention to a worn, leather-bound book on the table. It flicked through the pages, its ghostly fingers never quite touching the parchment. Every page was filled with hasty scribbles and strange, chaotic designs—the desperate scrawl of a mind consumed by a singular goal. The notes, penned in a mysterious-looking runic script, were incomprehensible to anyone else.
The specter paused on a page depicting a crudely drawn skeleton. It was eerily similar to Kaden’s initial form, even down to the source of light in his ribcage.
What had gone wrong this time? Everything had been in place—it had ensured it. Yet, despite all its experience, despite all the countless attempts before, this one, too, was on the cusp of failure.
Should it intervene? No, the cost would be far too great. It couldn’t afford to squander what little remained of its resources. The brat had to endure this on his own, had to prove he was strong enough to withstand the pressure. If he couldn’t, if he shattered like the others, then he would be discarded, and the specter would start anew.
Cold and devoid of empathy, the specter’s thoughts were ruthlessly pragmatic. There was no room for compassion, no tolerance for weakness. It had no use for a broken soul. Only the strong would serve its purpose. And if this one failed, there were always others waiting to be shaped, molded, and tested. There was always another attempt, another chance to perfect the process.
But as the specter gazed into the orb, watching the broken form of Kaden curled up on the cavern floor, a flicker of something unfamiliar passed through it—surprise.
Hm?
Within the orb, Kaden stirred. Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet, his skeletal form barely visible in the suffocating darkness of the cavern. With a determination that defied the specter’s expectations, Kaden moved toward the mutilated rat’s corpse, his steps deliberate, resolute. The specter watched in silence, its gaze narrowing as Kaden knelt beside the remains and, with a grim sense of purpose, sank his teeth into the rat’s flesh once more.
As the specter observed this scene, a slow, haunting smile spread across its ghostly visage. Perhaps the brat has it in him after all, it mused, its thoughts laced with a perverse sense of approval. Good.
Satisfied, the specter withdrew from the orb, its mind already racing ahead to the next steps. There were still many things to prepare, countless plans to set in motion. If Kaden continued to progress, if he could harness the power within him without breaking, then the specter’s long-sought goal was finally within reach.
The anticipation was immense, a near-tangible presence that buzzed at the edges of its mind. Still, it knew better than to rush. It could wait a little longer, could afford to let the brat struggle and grow. As soon as the brat was ready, the real work would begin.